


From the Notes of Jeremy Baker, PhD

by 3988Akasha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Character Death, Drugs, F/M, Insanity, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Off-Screen Rape (Implied), Off-screen Character Death, Serial Killers, Torture, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy meant to just observe them. To be a tutor to the strange boy in the attic. He never knew it would lead to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Notes of Jeremy Baker, PhD

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/gifts).



> I get to play in the 'verse set up by Dragomir
> 
> This is un-beta'd so let me know when you find my mistakes!

_12 September_

I've taken a post with a family of serial killers, which is not quite as extreme as one might think given they are the focus of my study. The primary case study, Miles Matheson, does not display many of the arguably more standard approaches to his craft, for one, he fails to see it as such. He simply enjoys the blood. For him, it is no art, just the sight of the blood and the infliction of various wounds, but only those that produce blood are of any interest to him. I caught wind of his activities quite by accident, and fear that if I were not able to provide private tutoring for the strange boy he keeps in the attic, I would be long dead by now. It is a rather humbling though, knowing one is alive by a odd circumstance of fate. Rather worrisome to know that if I had undergone a different profession, but still held my personal fascination for serial killers, I would be dead. The boy in the attic, Danny, makes me as uncomfortable as the rest of the family, even though he does not share the other's propensity towards violence, there is something strange about his presence, as though he were always dreaming. I cannot help but feel as though I am rather like Jane Eyre living with the mysterious Mr. Rochester who keeps some unspoken evil in the upstairs attic.

The attic was the least of my worries. The cellar causes me to lose sleep at night. It is in there that the Miles Matheson teaches his niece Charlie to mutilate bodies. She has a flair for it, and being a young female, is only just beginning to understand the power her allure will give her. She is ruthless and shares Miles' taste for blood, but she also enjoys the colors caused by various bruises. She will spend hours working upon the flesh of some poor victim; she does prefer men because their torsos offer her a larger canvas, and enjoys creating a rainbow of bruises. Based on the amount of noise the victim makes, or how their body contorts, she learns how the different colors correlate to both the depth of the bruise and the extent of the pain. Miles always observes her, his arms crossed against his chest, a slight smile on his lips. Yet, there is something in his eyes as he watches her that makes my skin prickle, and I hope he never casts that same glace in my direction.

 

_5 October_

They've brought someone new into the house. Someone from Miles' past, someone with the same violent propensities. His name is Bass and I'm fairly certain if it weren’t for Miles' presence in the house, Bass would kill me. The man always looks at me as though I were a bug, a disgusting bug to be squished under his shoe. Since he's in the house, and apparently living with us, I've taken the time to observe his actions. Unlike Miles, Bass appreciates the art of the kill. He enjoys the pain, after all, he will spend hours watching Miles work, but when Bass is finished with his own victims, he wants to display them. Immortalize them in the height of their beauty. For this reason, he prefers young, unattached women for his work. In spite of his irrational dislike of me, we do share a love for notes, I'm always catching him scribbling down notes in his tattered notebooks, mostly covered with dried blood and other viscous fluids I'm just as happy to not identify.

One of the most positive thing about Bass being in the house, is it seems to have taken Miles' attention away from me, at least for the time being, and on certain nights. I must admit that I am happy for the reprieve, but I fear the longer it continues, the more in danger my life may be. While I am here primarily to tutor young Danny, who no longer creeps me out so severely as he did when I first arrived, I am not so ignorant to believe that if Miles becomes bored or is struck by some fleeting whim, I may very well be Charlie's next practice canvas. Given how exceedingly violent Miles is, he is not nearly so vicious in the bedroom. Of course, there isn't a morning I wake up in his bed without a new bruise, but given I know how much worse it could be, I'm rather pleased to see the new purpling skin. In fact, I find I've become rather fond of them, watching them change color, seeing the way they spread and move around my skin. Perhaps it's from my continued exposure to Charlie and her strange obsession that I find myself mesmerized by the sight of the bruises upon my own skin.

 

_6 October_

It's early morning, I think. I was cornered by Miles sometime around midnight, I was in the kitchen looking for something to drink, when I found myself rather violently pushed against the refrigerator. Miles' whole body was flush against mine and I felt my heart begin to race in anticipation. I used to fear the nights, used to be rather disgusted with myself, but those emotions have long since left. Sometimes, I wonder if it's healthy, my enjoyment of being with Miles, but most of the time, I can't be bothered to care. It's happening, and since I'm not particularly inclined to have it stop happening, I figure idle conjecture on the validity of my emotions is irrelevant. He wasted no time, simply shoved his hand down my shorts and started to roughly work my dick. I whimpered, not even pretending to hold back, knowing he enjoyed the noises I made; he would constantly encourage me to be louder, to really let him know how he affected me. It wasn't a hard request to follow either because Miles was as much an expert in bed as he was in the cellar. I'd never been with a man before Miles, not because I was strictly a woman kind of man, but more because the opportunity had never presented itself. Miles was all about presenting opportunities. I'd not been in the house a week before Miles was in my room, showing me how good it felt to have a man's lips on my dick, how good it was to feel the smooth shaft being thrust into my mouth. It was a heady feeling, I must admit. There was something appealing about hearing a serial killer tell you how wonderful your lips felt around his dick, hearing him call out your name as he came down your throat. The power was intoxicating.

Tonight it was different though. Bass came into the kitchen and just sort of watched, I could feel his eyes on me the whole time and Miles jerked me off. I tried keeping quiet, not used to having an audience, but Miles didn't like that and kept pulling my hair until I cried out, at the pain this time, then he'd whisper _don't hold back_ against my neck and I'd begin begging, loudly, as though there wasn’t an audience. He brought me right to the brink and then he removed his hand. I let lose a string of expletives that made Bass smirk. Then he was in front of me, his dick half-hard and I wasn't so stupid I didn't know what was expected, but Miles was a possessive bastard, even Bass knew it. But Miles was smiling, the one he wore when he was particularly excited about something, something that usually ended badly for the other person. This was it, I thought, I was going to die. On my knees, with a dick in my face. I was going crazy. Being around these people was making me doubt my own sanity. I'd long since kissed my morals good bye. But the Miles was talking _you'll love his mouth_ and then Bass' hand was in my hair as he pushed his dick down my throat. He wasn't as big around as Miles, but he was longer so I gagged a bit at first. Bass seemed to enjoy that, but he was more into the visual, so I suppose the sight of me gagging on his dick, spit dribbling down my neck, my eyes watery, but pupils blown got him off.

 

_12 December_

I wake up with Miles and Bass more often than not anymore. The latter still seeming to just tolerate me, perhaps because of our nocturnal activities, but he seems less inclined to slit my throat for sport, so I'm choosing to count it as progress. He still sneers at my polo shirts and refused to be the one to order my coffee drinks the few times we're all out together, like when they go on one of their hunting trips. I'm along to look after Danny, and take notes. But, this close to Christmas, I want my super sugary drinks with the peppermint straws that I know drive Bass crazy. I wasn't this capricious before, but as I feared, the longer I'm around these people the more I act like them. I don't participate in any of the killings, but I do find myself more fascinated by it than I was before. Watching Miles work is like watching a master, the way the victims scream is a sound unlike no other. Bass is an artist, and he designs such a wonderful visual is as satisfying as going to an art gallery. Even Charlie, who is still more viscous energy than finesse, is coming into her own.

My own interest in bruising has continued. It didn't take Bass long to learn I had a taste for it, and him having the visual aestheticism he does, took it upon himself to give me many new bruises to examine. At first, he began placing the bruises along the line of my armpit, as Miles enjoyed the sounds I made while Bass bit marks into my sensitive flesh. I pouted at first, frustrated that I could only see the bruises while standing in front of the mirror with my arm in the air. I felt it looked rather ridiculous, but then Bass caught me examining myself one day. No on knocks on the doors in the house and Danny's is the only door that actually locks, so shutting the doors is mostly irrelevant. I was looking at a deep purple bruise along the meaty part of my underarm when Bass came up behind me, our eyes locked in the mirror, and he knocked my hand out of the way. He replaced it with his own and pushed his finger into the bruise, my mouth contorting into a jumbled expression of pain-tinged pleasure, but no sound came out. I watched the bruise distort around Bass' finger, watched the color change and sucked in a breath when Bass latched his teeth onto the tendon in my neck. _Beautiful_ and then he was gone.

 

_4 February_

The lifestyle I find myself living is not without its hardships and dangers. Some of which I never would have imagined. I'd been left to watch Danny, which I kept reminding himself was my primary job. And the boy was better when it was just the two of us, but honestly, I found him rather dull. He didn't share the interests of the rest of the family, interests I was becoming more and more keen on, but beyond that he was utterly listless. Part of it was the drugs Miles insisted he take; they kept the boy calm when they were out on hunting parties. We played Connect Four a lot when we were alone, and I tried to let him win every few games, just to keep it interesting. This particular time, they were out celebrating Charlie's sixteenth birthday and I was more than a little curious as to how exactly the Mathesons would celebrate a birthday. There wasn't a knock at the door, and even if there had been, I wouldn't have opened it. Miles and Bass had rather intense rules about that. Not that it mattered when the man came barreling through the door as though it were made of paper. He'd been at the neighbors, and I'm sure through all the torture, they'd given the location of the next nearest house. Terrific. I yelled at Danny to go to his room, mindful of my duties to him. I found out later it didn't matter. I don't remember much of the next part, but I do remember his smile. He wasn't crazy, which was new for me having been living with a household of legitimately crazy people for the better part of more years that not. No, this man was completely sane and all the scarier for it. He enjoyed pain, he enjoyed the kill, he enjoyed the visual and he enjoyed men.

My pain tolerance is embarrassingly low, especially given my proclivity for studying violence. On the positive side though, I was unconscious through most of what happened to me. But, the part I most wished to have been blissfully unaware of was the most potent of all my memories of the event. Now, it would be grossly misleading to say that Miles and Bass were gentle, they'd probably beat me for the thought, but they were not brutal, not in bed, not with me. Perhaps they were with each other, after all there were nights were I was left alone in my room. This man was brutal. He'd slammed himself into me so hard and with no preparation whatsoever that I feared I would black out from that alone. The pain was more intense than anything I had ever experienced in my life. Looking back though, I know it could have been much worse. He trussed me up on the kitchen table, spread-eagled for the whole world to see. It was humiliating, which might be a rather trite thing to be concerned with when one is being fucked dry and hard, but the positioning was more than a little embarrassing.

I remember when they came home, Miles, Bass and Charlie. Miles looked more murderous than I'd ever seen him. I'd like to think it was all because of me, but that would be stupid vanity, but I was a part of it. Someone had broken into his house, someone had _touched_ things that didn't belong to him. Including Danny, who was still family, in spite of, or perhaps because of, how they treat him. Bass' look though, that's the one I'll always remember. It chilled me to my core and made me fear for the man who'd abused me. It was Bass who took care of me, it was Bass who cleaned my wounds and whispered soothing words in a soft tone I didn't know he had. That was when I first realized that maybe I was more than a live-in tutor and convenient fuck, maybe I was almost family. In the same way that Bass was family…not Mathesons, but damn close. Bass had never been gentle with me before, not like this. He was stony silent and if he wasn't being so damn gentle I would have feared he was going to turn me into one of his projects in the cellar. He carefully cleaned my wounds, all of my wound, and I'm embarrassed to admit I flinched away from him when he went to clean some of the more sensitive areas. It caused him to growl deep in his throat and I shied away even further. That was when he left the room; I could hear him swearing at himself, at God, at me, at the poor bastard in the cellar. When he came back in he told me to _keep the fuck still so I can get you cleaned up damnit_ and I didn't flinch again. It wasn't intentional, I knew he wasn't going to hurt me, but still. I hated that I'd made him feel worse than he already did.

 

_14 April_

Things have been tense in the house ever since The Incident, which no one talks about, but everyone knows is the root of all the issues. Danny's gotten worse. I can't really even teach him anything anymore, but I fake it because it's my job. Charlie doesn't like English or Algebra, which means she's not doing so well with them and that forces me to make her work at them more. I woke up with her straddling my hips, a wicked looking knife in her hand, inches from my face. Charlie was not a normal girl, and I did the only thing I could think of…I cried out for Miles and Bass as loudly as I could before she could cut me. My outburst did catch her off guard which I found to be of little comfort when she pressed the knife against my cheek, the evil glint in her eyes the only warning of what was to come. I knew it would probably be my fate, for one reason or another. You don't live in the lion ring without knowing the lion might just kill you one day, so I closed my eyes and thought of happier times. She didn't kill me though. Miles tore her away from me before she had the chance. There was a slight cut on my cheek which sent Bass into a rage so bad that he backhanded Charlie so hard she slid halfway across the room before she fell. Miles blocked Bass' path, instinctively knowing Bass would kill her. Their eyes locked and I didn't breathe until Bass nodded once and turned away. Miles looked back at me, and I nodded, the only indication I could give that I was okay, since my ability to speak had abandoned me completely. Charlie lost all privileges for a month and was forced to do nothing but English and Algebra and each time she complained, Miles added another week to her punishment. There were moments when the punishment struck me as extreme, but then I remembered the look on Bass' face and realized it was better than death. When Charlie complained about the punishment to Miles, he hit her _you're lucky it's not worse…never family_. It was nice to know that I was part of the family, especially since things in the bedroom were far from okay and I still wasn't making any progress with Danny.

 

_20 May_

I don't know how much more patience Miles and Bass have with me. I still can't even force myself to make a sound in the bedroom, no matter how good it feels unless Bass tries to make a bruise in which case I cry out _NO_ as though the hounds of hell were chasing me. They're not the only ones who are frustrated. I want them like nothing I've ever wanted in my life, and I can't have them because my subconscious is being a sulky little bitch. I'm a psychologist, among other things, and while self-diagnosing is frowned upon in respectable circles, I'm not in any of those circles, so I'll self-diagnose to my heart's content. It's all that bastard's fault anyway, the Strausser guy who got rather severely tortured before he was finally killed. Miles and Bass are almost too careful to not talk about him and The Incident around me, but when I do catch snippets of their conversation, they both agree that they killed him too soon. I think my saving grace with Bass, and probably Miles too, is I can still give them blowjobs, which I know are Bass' favorite. They can pull my hair without me freaking out and at this point, I'm fairly certain I no longer have a gag reflex. They let me watch though, when they fuck each other, and I'd never considered myself much of a voyeur before, but damn if it isn't the hottest thing to watch them slam each other against various surfaces before pounding into each other. The only downside is I'm not being fucked, too.

 

_31 May_

We went out on a hunt today. Charlie finally free from her punishment convinced her uncle that she deserved a treat. I’m not sure if Miles actually agreed with her or was just bored. Miles gave Danny an extra dose of whatever drug he was trying out and they set off, Charlie driving her van with Miles while Bass and I rode in the truck. We went a little further out than normal, to a new shopping center that had been built in the middle of nowhere, part of a new housing development. Places like this were convenient, according to Bass who was the one who did research and took all the notes, because they were much more likely to remain anonymous in an area that wasn’t yet developed, because everyone was out of place, everyone was a stranger. I didn’t really care much one way or the other.

Like always, Danny was bait. They set him up in one of the coffee shops, which I liked because I could order my mocha with extra whipped cream. Things were sort of back to normal, at least enough for Bass to glare at my beverage of choice, and he was still upset that I owned polo shirts, but he’d stopped throwing them in the trash. I always managed to get new ones. Mostly because it annoyed him, and I chose to live with known serial killers, I’m not exactly going to make good life choices. Plus, I was fairly certain he wasn’t going to turn me into one of his projects. It didn’t take long before Danny caught the attention of some Good Samaritan, people having a weakness for broken looking kids. On cue, Charlie came bounding up, eyes wide with affected concern. She was in the process of convincing the man to help her get Danny to her van when I saw him. For a moment, I froze as terror griped me. It couldn’t be, but it was. I was seeing ghosts. Miles and Bass had killed him, rather thoroughly.

I’m not certain I can articulate what happened next, the change that came over me so suddenly I didn’t have time to think about it, I just acted. It should have been more difficult than it was, walking up to the man who looked so strikingly like Strausser that I thought I'd well and truly lost my mind. Fortunately, I'd been around Miles and Bass and even Charlie long enough to know how to make people come with you, how to make them trust you. Miles was off with Charlie and Danny, at least, I thought he was. Hoped he was, because I was going to lure this man who looked so much like Strausser it made me question my already tenuous sanity out to the car. Bass wasn't with Miles and Charlie and Danny, because he was with me. I don't know if that made me happy or not, to be honest. I felt a bit annoyed; this was mine. He didn't interfere though, just came along, as though he were just enjoying the show. He didn't speak, which I thought was odd, because I was wearing a polo shirt and holding a "frufru" coffee drink while leading this man to the car and Bass usually had something to say about my clothing and beverage of choice. Plus, I was luring a man out the car. I rather figured Bass might have an opinion on that.

We got the doppelganger to the house without incident, and I found myself all too calm. I felt as though I were watching myself go through the actions - taking the man down into the cellar, tying him to the chair, pacing in front of him while I attempted to sort through my tumultuous thoughts. Bass put the knife in my hand. It was his favorite knife, which didn't really register until after the fact. There was significance in that act. By the time I'd really begun to work on him, Miles and Charlie were back. Charlie went and pouted upstairs because Miles told her she wasn't allowed to participate.

It wasn't as elegant as Bass' work, nor was it as bloody as Miles', but it was cathartic. It was a rush unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I was a god among mortals as I cut into his flesh. His cries of pain only spurred me on, made me press certain areas harder. He didn't last as long as most of Bass' and Miles' victims which was probably due to my incompetence in the finer points of the craft, but I was okay with my work. We appeased Charlie by letting her help with body disposal, I needed the guidance and she needed the practice. Miles and Bass looked on with proud yet amused smiles on their faces that should have concerned me more than it did. I'd read and learned that it was easier with the second and the third and so on, but that wasn't the case because the first one wasn't difficult. It wasn't difficult at all.

 

I don't know what makes someone into a serial killer, I only know what made me one.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it?
> 
> Drop me a line.


End file.
